Observations
by celticgina
Summary: If only he could turn off that power of astute observation.  This one is very different for me.


No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have been pretty depressed at them being separated. This angsty little piece is manifestation of that.

Still don't own anything but kids home from school for the Summer.

OBSERVATIONS

The shirts were stiff and chafed at his skin at first. He had always worn soft, fine weave shirts. They were tailor made. Now, stiff blue cotton duck was his daily uniform, literally. No more stylish custom made suits for him.

There was a quite a discussion about where and how to house him. If they put him in solitary, it probably would have suited him. He wanted to live with his misery and guilt. They knew that and didn't want him alone too much. A suicide watch was discussed. If he was put in general population, a guard would have to be assigned just to watch him. Between those he had helped put here, and his tendency to hypnotize the others, they couldn't trust the outcome.

In the end, they settled for a compromise. He was alone most of the time. He was allowed in the yard for short periods, closely supervised. Much to their surprise, he didn't argue or try to charm his way into a better situation. He was stoic. His silence was un-nerving to those who knew of him. And they all knew of him.

He had only made one request the entire time. He wanted to at least watch the funeral. He agreed to ask for no other special treatment. He would take what came. A fierce debate raged about this. There were those who thought he should be forced to see what he had wrought. Others felt he shouldn't be allowed to have even that much closure.

In the end, it was the final favor the Governor did for him. Naturally, it was done through back channels. No one would blame the AG or the Governor for distancing themselves.

He had lived his life being observant. It wasn't something he could turn off, anymore than he could change his eye color. It proved to be a curse today. All those small details were like a wave of emotion that threatened to sweep him away. He forced himself to remain outwardly impassive. He was losing a piece of himself again inside.

To those who didn't know, Cho's face seemed stoic and impassive, devoid of emotion. He knew better. There was a tightness to his jaw as if he loosened even a little, it would all overcome him. His muscles were bunched as he hefted the coffin with the others. He would perform this last favor for his unlikely friend.

Even looking at Lisbon via a grainy TV picture cracked what remained of his heart. She too, was forcing herself to remain calm and in control. Only the man who had made watching and knowing her his private vocation could see the truth. She was miserable. There were deep circles under her eyes. Where once there had been a spark, was now just flat green. He could see she was torn between being the boss, a friend and the support to the taller woman at her side.

Grace was wearing a skirt, he noted. He knew she wore it because her legs had been a source of joy for the man they mourned. She was even paler than Lisbon. She wasn't currently crying, but the ring of red around her eyes that no makeup could hide told the story of hours of tears shed. She probably thought she was all cried out. He was sure there was much more sobbing silently into an old t-shirt of his ahead of her.

So, he watched silently. There was no one who wanted to hear his amazingly astute observations, even if he had been inclined to share them. He therefore noted only to himself, the presence of the AG, the Governor and a host of other dignitaries. They generally tried to show up at cops' funerals, any way but he knew none of them would miss this hero's funeral.

The presence of some motorcycles in the background gave proof that his past had finally found him. They understood they no longer really belonged to any part of his life and now his death. They watched from a distance. They would pay their respects privately, much later.

By the time the bagpipes began to wail a sad song for this hero cut down in his prime, Grace was silently sobbing. Those closest pretended not to notice. The guards however weren't so kind or so quiet.

"Isn't the red-head an agent? What's with the weepy girl stuff?"

"Jesus! Don't you know anything? She was dating him. They had to break it up when they got caught. But he wouldn't let any other guy near her. Everyone knew to stay clear there. "

"Guess she is another victim of this asshole, here then, huh?"

"Yeah, Jane here thought just killing the suspect on his own would be so easy and that would be the end of it all. He didn't count on Red John having one bullet and enough energy to take down an agent. Rigsby was one of the good ones"

"Yeah, it seems the good ones are gone and pieces like this one remain behind, after he has torn it all up. Wonder if he really understands what he has done?"

Their words chafed and scraped at the raw nerves that were all he had left. The idea that he didn't understand was ludicrous. He had learned to live with the constant dull ache that was his guilt and sorrow over his wife and child's death. He had learned to smile again at the small things.

But he would live with this for the rest of his life. He knew that Rigsby had Red John in his sights. He had gotten in the line of fire and prevented the clean shot. That momentary elation at having taken that life quickly turned to unspeakable horror. If only he had let Rigby take the shot. If only he had listened to Lisbon. If only he had seen the gun Red John was hiding.

If only would be his only companion for the rest of his life. He would not seek parole. He deserved to be here.

As they led him away from the TV, he glanced back and observed the chaos he had created.

OK, I know, sad and depressing and so unlike me. Every now and then, ya gotta get tough.

I promise to get back to happy stuff next.

What did we all think?


End file.
